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there is always a chance
Hangnail
Tribune
Thank you for your interest. I will add more, and perhaps even achieve a conclusion. Can't promise when.
Hangnail
Tribune
The weather was perfect for an outdoors activity such a picnic or athletic
competition. The morning sun shone from a sky full of drifting puffy clouds.
A gentle breeze played with the long dresses of those women who wore proper
attire. During a longer-than-average break in the clouds the sun warmed my
shoulders, and I felt like taking off my helmet. But the sight before me
defied the gentle caress of the sun and wind. Certainly there was a cheerful
crowd, milling around in groups, chatting, and enjoying the entertainment that
was provided for them. But in amongst their shared smiles and friendly banter
were three people struggling in ghastly poses of agony.
On the road in to town, traffic slowly increased. Some were entering the
city, mostly soldiers from our camp going to relieve colleagues, but also some
civilians bringing in food from the more distant fields that they knew would
fetch a good price in the looted metropolis. The greater number, however, were
townsfolk leaving the city; the poorer ones carrying their remaining
possessions in sacks, other luckier ones having donkeys to carry them and their
chattels. Occasionally a wheeled cart or even a sedan chair carried by slaves
would mark one of the wealthier citizens, leaving their conquered home with
whatever they had been able to salvage.
As members of the original crucifixion crowd moved off to get about their
day's business, new arrivals replaced them, fascinated by the unusual
spectacle of not one but two desirable female bodies suffering the indignity
of public execution.
After less than ten minutes on the cross, Willowfall was coming to the end
of her ability to control her own movements and voice. Victims who are
nailed hand and foot from the start never enjoy more than a few seconds of such
control, but with her tender wrists spared the nails, Willowfall took a
quarter of an hour to begin the uninhibited display that spectators find the
most intensely thrilling part of a crucifixion.
As the rival agonies of Willowfall's taut arms and pinned feet fought to
control her body, her struggles became more and more erotic. Uninhibited
cries burst from her lips. She raised herself on quivering legs, and lowered
herself to hang by exhausted arms. The still-strong muscles of her back and
stomach tried to help, and she twisted from side to side in a desperate effort
to take the stress on some other part of her body, adopting contorted poses
for a few seconds each before finding that they offered no relief and falling
back to the dreadful low-hanging position. My dick was ready to unload
itself. Each time it brushed against my clothing I thought it would explode. I
was regretting my restraint in sparing Willowfall public ravishment when I
made her pussy so warm and wet by fondling her before the crowd, just before
she was raised up. I surveyed the girls among the spectators, deciding
which one to summon to give me some relief. I was just about to call out to a
well-rounded redhead when I heard a woman's cry of dismay from behind me.
A sedan chair carried by four slaves had stopped on the roadway. It was a
fancy one, with a shade that protected the distinguished-looking woman sitting
in it from the sun. She looked out at our little tableau. She gave an order,
and the servants lowered the chair to the ground and and helped her get out. A
younger man and gorgeous young woman joined her from the group around the
chair. The older woman stepped forwards, her eyes fixed on Willowfall. The
younger man tried to pull her back.
"No, Mama, you are mistaken," he insisted.
The young woman ran forward, ahead of her mother and brother.
She wore a plain dress but her face was beautifully sculpted with bright eyes
and perfect white skin, framed with full black hair. A few paces from me
she stopped.
Her face suddenly crumpled with dismay, her hands flew to her
cheeks, and she cried out "Ulia!"
Willowfall raised her head, distracted from her agony by the girl's voice.
Her face took on a mirroring expression of horror. "Marcia!" she groaned.
The mother and the young man arrived at the girl's side, and the three of them advanced
arm in arm, supporting each other.
"Ulia Fulvia!" cried the mother.
Willowfall twisted her body in a futile effort to hide her naked front
from her mother, sister, and the young man who I would later find out
was her stepbrother.
"No!" she cried, "don't look at me!"
The older woman approached me. I could see in her demeanor the habit of
imperious command struggling with the sense that in this situation she might
not have the power to which she was accustomed.
"What is happening here?" she demanded, stiffly.
"Crucifixion, madam," I replied, brightly.
"My daughter," she said, fighting to maintain her composure, "you have my
daughter on your cross. There must be some mistake."
"'Ulia Fuliva' is she? Well, she killed one of my mates so up she goes, same as
anyone else."
"You must let her down!"
"And who might you be?" I asked.
She drew herself up. "I am Livilla Domitia, wife of Magister Domitius,
council member of this colonia. Release my daughter immediately."
I turned and found Willowfall, trembling in the low position on her cross,
her head lolling against her tight right arm, watching us through pain-narrowed eyes.
"Is this your mum, Willowfall?" I asked, "she's quite a lady. What do you think
she'll offer me to get you down from there?"
"Mother, Julius, Marcia," cried Willowfall, summoning her last vestiges of control.
"Please go! Go away before this awful cross makes me say horrible things that you mustn't
hear!"
Domitia and Marcia had averted their gazes, but Julius was staring at his stepsister's
stretched-out body, with a look of more fascination than horror.
"So, Lady Domitia," I said, "how much money does your family have these days?"
"We have assets," the privileged lady bridled.
"Show me some."
She gave me a series of evasive answers as I questioned her. It was soon clear that,
as I had guessed, her husband the Magister was dead, and his surviving family members
were lucky to be allowed to escape the city with their clothes and a few servants.
"Someone must hang from the patibulum for my friend Sextus's death," I told her.
"Perhaps you could offer yourself in place of the culprit."
Her face twisted with revulsion.
"Or... how about young Marcia there?" I suggested. "You can choose how we use her:
either for our own pleasure, or as a cross-dancer for her sister's crime."
Words failed the noble lady. She looked with striken grief at Willowfall,
who was shaking her head and fighting back a scream. Willowfall gasped a few
times, and then started to lift herself up on the foot-nail once again, arm
muscles tightening like cords and shapely legs trembling at her unsecured
knees. The scream of agony burst from her lips and went on and on as she
shuddered, unable to rise all the way to the up position but resisting
slipping back to the down position. Lady Domitia looked as if she was about
to faint. She turned back to her sedan. Marcia, tears streaming down her
cheeks, turned with her mother, but looked back over her shoulder at her
sister's shocking display. Julius, showing more situational awareness,
tore his eyes from his stepsister's contortions and stepped ahead of his mother
towards the sedan.
I nodded to Silvanus, Oppius, and Titus. They lept forwards. Silvanus took
Julius down with kick to the back of his knees, and held him down in an
arm lock. The soft-skinned fellow squirmed impotently. Oppius took the girl
Marcia by the arm, and Silvanus blocked Lady Domitia's path, forcing her to
turn back to me.
"Don't run off!" I said. "We've been doing an interesting experiment here, and
I'd like you to be a part of it."
Domitia looked around, noticing the rude faces of the crowd for the first
time. Distracted from their close-up appreciation of the agonies of Valeria,
Willowfall, and Sergius, the mob began to gather around the new arrivals. For
the first time, a flicker of fear crossed Domitia's face. Marcia edged closer
to her mother, her lovely tear-filled eyes widening with fear at the openly
leering faces of the men around her.
"We've been trying a bit of street-level democracy," I told Domitia, "Like
in Old Athens only for ordinary folk too. I think your people are enjoying
it. They chose a low cross for Willowfall here, which I think is working
rather well. And one of our camp women helped nail her feet!"
Willowfall slumped back to the low-hanging position, her bottom making a nice thump
against the stipes. She howled in pain.
"Permission to speak, sir!" said Silvanus.
"Granted!" I snapped.
"I found some more nails, sir, new ones."
"Good!" I exclaimed, "And we have plenty of timber piled up back there. I wonder
what we should do now."
competition. The morning sun shone from a sky full of drifting puffy clouds.
A gentle breeze played with the long dresses of those women who wore proper
attire. During a longer-than-average break in the clouds the sun warmed my
shoulders, and I felt like taking off my helmet. But the sight before me
defied the gentle caress of the sun and wind. Certainly there was a cheerful
crowd, milling around in groups, chatting, and enjoying the entertainment that
was provided for them. But in amongst their shared smiles and friendly banter
were three people struggling in ghastly poses of agony.
On the road in to town, traffic slowly increased. Some were entering the
city, mostly soldiers from our camp going to relieve colleagues, but also some
civilians bringing in food from the more distant fields that they knew would
fetch a good price in the looted metropolis. The greater number, however, were
townsfolk leaving the city; the poorer ones carrying their remaining
possessions in sacks, other luckier ones having donkeys to carry them and their
chattels. Occasionally a wheeled cart or even a sedan chair carried by slaves
would mark one of the wealthier citizens, leaving their conquered home with
whatever they had been able to salvage.
As members of the original crucifixion crowd moved off to get about their
day's business, new arrivals replaced them, fascinated by the unusual
spectacle of not one but two desirable female bodies suffering the indignity
of public execution.
After less than ten minutes on the cross, Willowfall was coming to the end
of her ability to control her own movements and voice. Victims who are
nailed hand and foot from the start never enjoy more than a few seconds of such
control, but with her tender wrists spared the nails, Willowfall took a
quarter of an hour to begin the uninhibited display that spectators find the
most intensely thrilling part of a crucifixion.
As the rival agonies of Willowfall's taut arms and pinned feet fought to
control her body, her struggles became more and more erotic. Uninhibited
cries burst from her lips. She raised herself on quivering legs, and lowered
herself to hang by exhausted arms. The still-strong muscles of her back and
stomach tried to help, and she twisted from side to side in a desperate effort
to take the stress on some other part of her body, adopting contorted poses
for a few seconds each before finding that they offered no relief and falling
back to the dreadful low-hanging position. My dick was ready to unload
itself. Each time it brushed against my clothing I thought it would explode. I
was regretting my restraint in sparing Willowfall public ravishment when I
made her pussy so warm and wet by fondling her before the crowd, just before
she was raised up. I surveyed the girls among the spectators, deciding
which one to summon to give me some relief. I was just about to call out to a
well-rounded redhead when I heard a woman's cry of dismay from behind me.
A sedan chair carried by four slaves had stopped on the roadway. It was a
fancy one, with a shade that protected the distinguished-looking woman sitting
in it from the sun. She looked out at our little tableau. She gave an order,
and the servants lowered the chair to the ground and and helped her get out. A
younger man and gorgeous young woman joined her from the group around the
chair. The older woman stepped forwards, her eyes fixed on Willowfall. The
younger man tried to pull her back.
"No, Mama, you are mistaken," he insisted.
The young woman ran forward, ahead of her mother and brother.
She wore a plain dress but her face was beautifully sculpted with bright eyes
and perfect white skin, framed with full black hair. A few paces from me
she stopped.
Her face suddenly crumpled with dismay, her hands flew to her
cheeks, and she cried out "Ulia!"
Willowfall raised her head, distracted from her agony by the girl's voice.
Her face took on a mirroring expression of horror. "Marcia!" she groaned.
The mother and the young man arrived at the girl's side, and the three of them advanced
arm in arm, supporting each other.
"Ulia Fulvia!" cried the mother.
Willowfall twisted her body in a futile effort to hide her naked front
from her mother, sister, and the young man who I would later find out
was her stepbrother.
"No!" she cried, "don't look at me!"
The older woman approached me. I could see in her demeanor the habit of
imperious command struggling with the sense that in this situation she might
not have the power to which she was accustomed.
"What is happening here?" she demanded, stiffly.
"Crucifixion, madam," I replied, brightly.
"My daughter," she said, fighting to maintain her composure, "you have my
daughter on your cross. There must be some mistake."
"'Ulia Fuliva' is she? Well, she killed one of my mates so up she goes, same as
anyone else."
"You must let her down!"
"And who might you be?" I asked.
She drew herself up. "I am Livilla Domitia, wife of Magister Domitius,
council member of this colonia. Release my daughter immediately."
I turned and found Willowfall, trembling in the low position on her cross,
her head lolling against her tight right arm, watching us through pain-narrowed eyes.
"Is this your mum, Willowfall?" I asked, "she's quite a lady. What do you think
she'll offer me to get you down from there?"
"Mother, Julius, Marcia," cried Willowfall, summoning her last vestiges of control.
"Please go! Go away before this awful cross makes me say horrible things that you mustn't
hear!"
Domitia and Marcia had averted their gazes, but Julius was staring at his stepsister's
stretched-out body, with a look of more fascination than horror.
"So, Lady Domitia," I said, "how much money does your family have these days?"
"We have assets," the privileged lady bridled.
"Show me some."
She gave me a series of evasive answers as I questioned her. It was soon clear that,
as I had guessed, her husband the Magister was dead, and his surviving family members
were lucky to be allowed to escape the city with their clothes and a few servants.
"Someone must hang from the patibulum for my friend Sextus's death," I told her.
"Perhaps you could offer yourself in place of the culprit."
Her face twisted with revulsion.
"Or... how about young Marcia there?" I suggested. "You can choose how we use her:
either for our own pleasure, or as a cross-dancer for her sister's crime."
Words failed the noble lady. She looked with striken grief at Willowfall,
who was shaking her head and fighting back a scream. Willowfall gasped a few
times, and then started to lift herself up on the foot-nail once again, arm
muscles tightening like cords and shapely legs trembling at her unsecured
knees. The scream of agony burst from her lips and went on and on as she
shuddered, unable to rise all the way to the up position but resisting
slipping back to the down position. Lady Domitia looked as if she was about
to faint. She turned back to her sedan. Marcia, tears streaming down her
cheeks, turned with her mother, but looked back over her shoulder at her
sister's shocking display. Julius, showing more situational awareness,
tore his eyes from his stepsister's contortions and stepped ahead of his mother
towards the sedan.
I nodded to Silvanus, Oppius, and Titus. They lept forwards. Silvanus took
Julius down with kick to the back of his knees, and held him down in an
arm lock. The soft-skinned fellow squirmed impotently. Oppius took the girl
Marcia by the arm, and Silvanus blocked Lady Domitia's path, forcing her to
turn back to me.
"Don't run off!" I said. "We've been doing an interesting experiment here, and
I'd like you to be a part of it."
Domitia looked around, noticing the rude faces of the crowd for the first
time. Distracted from their close-up appreciation of the agonies of Valeria,
Willowfall, and Sergius, the mob began to gather around the new arrivals. For
the first time, a flicker of fear crossed Domitia's face. Marcia edged closer
to her mother, her lovely tear-filled eyes widening with fear at the openly
leering faces of the men around her.
"We've been trying a bit of street-level democracy," I told Domitia, "Like
in Old Athens only for ordinary folk too. I think your people are enjoying
it. They chose a low cross for Willowfall here, which I think is working
rather well. And one of our camp women helped nail her feet!"
Willowfall slumped back to the low-hanging position, her bottom making a nice thump
against the stipes. She howled in pain.
"Permission to speak, sir!" said Silvanus.
"Granted!" I snapped.
"I found some more nails, sir, new ones."
"Good!" I exclaimed, "And we have plenty of timber piled up back there. I wonder
what we should do now."
T
The Fallen Angel
Guest
We await the next chapter.
Hangnail
Tribune
Willowfall Captured (12), by Hangnail
The clean-shaven man had finished with Valeria during the arrival of Willowfall's
family, and now called out from the back of the crowd.
"Let's have a dance contest! Mother versus daughter! The loser mounts a cross and
the winner stays here to entertain us!"
The men in the crowd cheered.
"How dare you!" spluttered Lady Domitia. Her servants shifted nervously, wondering
if they should try to rescue their mistress, or take the opportunity to escape now.
"Officer!" she appealed to me. "The army of Rome is now the force of law and order
here. I expect you to enforce the justice for which Rome is known."
"Of course, madam," I replied.
But my mind was racing, trying to work out how I was going to take the
beautiful Marcia. The thought of fucking her at the foot of the cross on which
her older sister was already writhing... it brought my dick to such a peak of
hardness and sensitivity that I was almost afraid to look at her.
"But," I went on, "wars have their consequences. My friend Sextus did not
want to be here fighting and getting killed. I didn't want to be here, nor did
any of us in Legio eleven. It all happened because you rulers of this city
chose to defy Rome. Now you must live the consequences. But I will offer you a
chance to show your contrition."
I was interrupted by some struggling and squealing from Valeria's cross: Blossom
had pushed her off her sedile, and every time Valeria tried to haul herself back up
again, Blossom would find a way to keep her off it. We all smiled, except for
Willowfall's family, who cringed in horror at this sadistic game.
"Listen," I said to them, "here is what I offer. Your sweet 'Ulia' killed my
mate, so we crucified her. But she's had it soft so far, because we were short
of nails. Now Silvanus has found some new nails, it's time to nail
her hands. Whoever helps us and hammers one nail all the way in, gets to
live. If one of you hammers in both nails, they get to walk away. It's up to
you."
The crowd murmured happily at the opportunity to see their ruling classes
experience the rough justice they had meted out for so many years. Fannia
clapped her hands in glee.
I gestured to Andronicus, who was a strong little fellow in spite of his
cloudy eye, and another man, the tallest in the crowd, and summoned them to
join me at Willowfall's cross. The tall guy untied the ropes holding
Willowfall's patibulum to the stipes, while Andronicus (wobbling on tiptoe)
and I supported the ends of the patibulum.
Domitia was apoplectic. "This is monstrous!" she shrieked, losing her dignity.
"You're not soldiers, you're beasts!" She struggled with Silvanus
but he easily pinned her arms. "Servants!" she cried, "Come here at once!". But her
servants only exchanged nervous glances.
Marcia sank to her knees, her black hair covering her face, sobs shaking her shoulders.
Her ripe breasts bounced against her tight dress. Julius looked briefly at her, and
took a hesitant step forward towards his stepsister's cross.
"Hurry up, take me down!" gasped Willowfall, a look of hope lighting up her
face. None of us spoke. The tall man dropped the ropes to the ground, and
Andronicus and I slowly rotated Willowfall's patibulum around to get her on
her back on the ground. Willowfall struggled and squealed as her feet
twisted on the nail, but soon she was lying there, face up, with her
feet still nailed to the foot block, but the toes rather than the heels up against
the stipes. Her arms were stretched out, still tied to the patibulum, but
she sighed with relief as they were relieved of the strain of bearing her
full weight. "Thank you, thank you," she said.
Silvanus pushed Lady Domitia over to the prone figure of her daughter. He
gave me the nails, which were nice construction nails, straight with unbent
points, and thick enough to hold timbers in place for a siege wall. I asked
the tall man to bring me the hammer. I held the hammer and a nail out to Lady
Domitia.
"I implore you," she whispered, "Surely you have a daughter or son?"
"Untie me, mother," cried Willowfall, who couldn't see what was going on.
Titus and Oppius brought Marcia and Julius over to join their mother. Marcia
threw herself to the ground beside Willowfall and began kissing and caressing
her sister's face. Willowfall wanted to hug her but could only press her head
against her sister's cheek. Marcia reached for the ropes that held
Willowfall's arms, and Oppius dragged her away from the patibulum.
"This is your final chance," I told Domitia. Her hair was grey but it was
well-coiffed and her face, though slightly lined, still carried the beauty
that must have made her a highly desirable woman in her prime. I took her
hand in mine, turned it palm up, and laid the nail in it. "You are an
attractive and high-born woman," I said quietly to her, "I'd hate to see you
end up like that," and I pointed my thumb at Valeria, who was hanging by her
bloody wrist-nails, sobbing and cursing at Blossom, who was still not letting
her back on her sedile.
Domitia looked me in the eyes. "I cannot do such a thing. No decent person could.
If you had a scrap of honor you would respect my rank and allow us to leave."
I smiled. Domitia had not disappointed me.
I turned to Marcia. She wailed and struggled in Oppius's grip.
"Please take out the nail, please!" cried Willowfall, her legs trembling as she tried
to keep them in a position where her feet didn't pull on the nail.
"Let me untie her!" implored Marcia. Her liquid brown eyes made me feel
weak. I savored the quivering of her full lips, the tear tracks on her white
cheeks. Her dress was gathered in above the hips, carefully designed to show
off her slim waist. I imagined her naked, down on her hands and knees, with me
behind her holding her firmly by her thick black hair...
I offered her the hammer and nail.
"Just hammer in one nail," I told her. "Otherwise you'll have to hope for the
mercy of your own folk."
She looked at her mother, at her brother who was staring at his other sister, and
then at the grinning crowd. She tried to pull her arm out of Oppius's grip.
"Let us go, please!"
"Yes, she is innocent," added her mother. "There is no reason for you to punish
her. Do the decent thing and let her go."
Willowfall twisted her head and pulled on the ropes, trying to see what was
going on. Her brother Julius stepped forward, Titus at his side ready to restrain
him if necessary.
"Julius, why aren't they untying me?" asked Willowfall, still unable to imagine
any other reason why she might have been lowered to the ground.
I offered Julius the hammer and a nail. He stretched out his hand and took them.
"Julius..." gasped Marcia and her mother, in unison.
Julius stepped in to Willowfall's field of view.
"Julius?" cried Willowfall. She looked around at Titus and me. The truth dawned
on her. "No," she whispered.
Julius knelt by Willowfall's left hand. Titus squatted next to him and pulled
the coils of rope apart, exposing the soft white skin of Willowfall's wrist.
He pointed and pressed his finger against the special place where the nail would slip
between the bones. Julius placed the point of the nail on that spot.
"Julius!" cried Marcia and Domitia, in disbelief.
"No!" screamed Willowfall, "No no please no..."
The angle of the nail looked a bit off, but the bones would channel it,
at some cost to Willowfall's nerves.
Showing surprising vigor for a sedentary aristrocrat, Julius brought the hammer
down. It hit the nailhead with a firm "thunk", driving it down a good two inches.
Willowfall's scream was so loud that we had to cover our ears. Her body arched in
spasm, jerking her feet against the nail that pinned them to the stipes.
Julius jumped up, ran away a few steps, and threw up behind a small bush. Titus held
Willowfall's hand in place so the nail only bobbed around a little. It hadn't yet
seated itself in the wood. The crowd burst in to coarse laughter.
Willowfall's screams slowly subsided to sobbing yelps. Marcia and Domitia clung
together, their bodies shaking with grief and fear. Silvanus led Julius back to
the naked body of his sister, her stomach rising and falling rapidly.
"All the way in!" came voices from the crowd.
Silvanus gave Julius the hammer again.
I wondered if Julius had ever ordered any of his slaves crucified.
"Julius," whimpered Willowfall.
Julius, his mouth in a thin line, hammered the nail as if he were repairing
a loose floorboard. Willowfall shrieked and jerked helplessly. After five or
six blows, just an inch of nail stuck out from her wrist. Blood was oozing out
around the puncture wound. Julius let the hammer fall to his side. He gazed
at his sister's twitching body. He reached out and let his hand cover her
breast. The crowd fell silent. Slowly, he squeezed Willowfall's breast,
rolling her nipple between his fingers. Willowfall didn't seem to notice, she
was panting and moaning, looking in disbelief at the nail sticking out of her
wrist.
Julius stood up. Suddenly he was the one in command. Titus gave him another
nail, then knelt to separate the ropes that held Willowfall's right
wrist. Julius placed the nail on the right spot. Willowfall didn't realize
what was happening until the hammer started landing again. With five fluent
blows, Julius fixed Willowfall's right wrist to the wood of the patibulum. On
the first one she screamed and struggled, to no avail. He reached out and felt
the protruding nailhead, and checked that it was immovably firm. Everyone
watched to see what he would do to her next.
Julius swung his knee over Willowfall and knelt astride her heaving stomach.
She was gasping and crying, trying to pull her hands off the nails and
suffering spasms of pain each time she did so. Julius lent over her distorted
face, and brushed the sweat-stuck hair aside. He started to kiss her, working
his way from her forehead, down her nose to her twitching lips, then down her
neck and chest to her breasts. He kissed each nipple, then alternated between
kissing and sucking them. Willowfall trembled and gasped like a transported
lover. Julius continued. His hand stroked the inside of her thighs, then his
fingers slid up to her crotch and worked there in a slow insistent
rhythm. Willowfall strained and sighed, turning her head from side to side.
Was she responding to his touch, or fascinated by the reality of the short
shanks of bloody iron that now sprouted from her agonized hands?
Julius lifted his red-lined tunic and brought forth his member. It was erect. Its
thickness was normal, but it was impressively long, and already glistened with
oozings of pre-cum. He grasped Willowfall's slender hips, and pulled her down
the cross towards him. Her arms straightened as Titus untied the ropes that were
no longer needed to hold them. Julius pulled her down again, and Willowfall screamed as
her hands tugged on the cruel nails. Because her feet were fixed in place,
pulling her down caused her legs to bend and her thighs to open.
Julius slid his dick in to the triangle of shadow below her pubic area.
Julius's hips began to move. Willowfall cried out and her struggles became
more urgent. She looked down and saw Julius on top of her, several inches of his
white dick visibly starting to slide in to her womanhood. She struggled, and
then screeched at the resultant pain in her hands and feet. Julius began the
slow in-and-out motion that could only have one ending. Willowfall emitted
inarticulate cries; she might have been begging him to stop, or asking us to
end her suffering, no one could tell. Julius took her breasts in his hands
and leaned his weight on them. He was now fucking her. None of us could
believe what we were seeing. Julius's eyes locked on his stepsister's
pain-wracked face. But it would have taken very little imagination to see hers
as the face of an ecstatic lover. Whatever his thoughts, Julius was soon
moving as uncontrollably as Willowfall. Glistening inches of his dick flashed
in and out of view as he pounded her tortured body. As we watched in
breathless fascination, he came to his climax, looking every bit the
passionate lover, his face buried in her breasts, his hands cupping
her buttocks. It took a while for his fucking to slow down and stop.
Unable to restrain myself, I pulled Marcia towards me. I ripped the delicate
dress from her body and flung it aside. As Oppius and Titus took hold of
Willowfall's patibulum, I turned Marcia around, letting her naked bottom press
against my bulging tunic, and holding her breasts in my hands. They were soft
and heavy, and shook with her cries of dismay as the two grinning soldiers
slowly maneuvered her sister's patibulum, rotating it back up to the top of
her stipes. Willowfall hung from it at an awkward angle struggling and
screaming, blood dripping down her arm, until they lodged it in place on the
pegs at the top of the stipes. The tall fellow tied it back on again, and we
all admired the finally complete crucifixion of Willowfall.
The clean-shaven man had finished with Valeria during the arrival of Willowfall's
family, and now called out from the back of the crowd.
"Let's have a dance contest! Mother versus daughter! The loser mounts a cross and
the winner stays here to entertain us!"
The men in the crowd cheered.
"How dare you!" spluttered Lady Domitia. Her servants shifted nervously, wondering
if they should try to rescue their mistress, or take the opportunity to escape now.
"Officer!" she appealed to me. "The army of Rome is now the force of law and order
here. I expect you to enforce the justice for which Rome is known."
"Of course, madam," I replied.
But my mind was racing, trying to work out how I was going to take the
beautiful Marcia. The thought of fucking her at the foot of the cross on which
her older sister was already writhing... it brought my dick to such a peak of
hardness and sensitivity that I was almost afraid to look at her.
"But," I went on, "wars have their consequences. My friend Sextus did not
want to be here fighting and getting killed. I didn't want to be here, nor did
any of us in Legio eleven. It all happened because you rulers of this city
chose to defy Rome. Now you must live the consequences. But I will offer you a
chance to show your contrition."
I was interrupted by some struggling and squealing from Valeria's cross: Blossom
had pushed her off her sedile, and every time Valeria tried to haul herself back up
again, Blossom would find a way to keep her off it. We all smiled, except for
Willowfall's family, who cringed in horror at this sadistic game.
"Listen," I said to them, "here is what I offer. Your sweet 'Ulia' killed my
mate, so we crucified her. But she's had it soft so far, because we were short
of nails. Now Silvanus has found some new nails, it's time to nail
her hands. Whoever helps us and hammers one nail all the way in, gets to
live. If one of you hammers in both nails, they get to walk away. It's up to
you."
The crowd murmured happily at the opportunity to see their ruling classes
experience the rough justice they had meted out for so many years. Fannia
clapped her hands in glee.
I gestured to Andronicus, who was a strong little fellow in spite of his
cloudy eye, and another man, the tallest in the crowd, and summoned them to
join me at Willowfall's cross. The tall guy untied the ropes holding
Willowfall's patibulum to the stipes, while Andronicus (wobbling on tiptoe)
and I supported the ends of the patibulum.
Domitia was apoplectic. "This is monstrous!" she shrieked, losing her dignity.
"You're not soldiers, you're beasts!" She struggled with Silvanus
but he easily pinned her arms. "Servants!" she cried, "Come here at once!". But her
servants only exchanged nervous glances.
Marcia sank to her knees, her black hair covering her face, sobs shaking her shoulders.
Her ripe breasts bounced against her tight dress. Julius looked briefly at her, and
took a hesitant step forward towards his stepsister's cross.
"Hurry up, take me down!" gasped Willowfall, a look of hope lighting up her
face. None of us spoke. The tall man dropped the ropes to the ground, and
Andronicus and I slowly rotated Willowfall's patibulum around to get her on
her back on the ground. Willowfall struggled and squealed as her feet
twisted on the nail, but soon she was lying there, face up, with her
feet still nailed to the foot block, but the toes rather than the heels up against
the stipes. Her arms were stretched out, still tied to the patibulum, but
she sighed with relief as they were relieved of the strain of bearing her
full weight. "Thank you, thank you," she said.
Silvanus pushed Lady Domitia over to the prone figure of her daughter. He
gave me the nails, which were nice construction nails, straight with unbent
points, and thick enough to hold timbers in place for a siege wall. I asked
the tall man to bring me the hammer. I held the hammer and a nail out to Lady
Domitia.
"I implore you," she whispered, "Surely you have a daughter or son?"
"Untie me, mother," cried Willowfall, who couldn't see what was going on.
Titus and Oppius brought Marcia and Julius over to join their mother. Marcia
threw herself to the ground beside Willowfall and began kissing and caressing
her sister's face. Willowfall wanted to hug her but could only press her head
against her sister's cheek. Marcia reached for the ropes that held
Willowfall's arms, and Oppius dragged her away from the patibulum.
"This is your final chance," I told Domitia. Her hair was grey but it was
well-coiffed and her face, though slightly lined, still carried the beauty
that must have made her a highly desirable woman in her prime. I took her
hand in mine, turned it palm up, and laid the nail in it. "You are an
attractive and high-born woman," I said quietly to her, "I'd hate to see you
end up like that," and I pointed my thumb at Valeria, who was hanging by her
bloody wrist-nails, sobbing and cursing at Blossom, who was still not letting
her back on her sedile.
Domitia looked me in the eyes. "I cannot do such a thing. No decent person could.
If you had a scrap of honor you would respect my rank and allow us to leave."
I smiled. Domitia had not disappointed me.
I turned to Marcia. She wailed and struggled in Oppius's grip.
"Please take out the nail, please!" cried Willowfall, her legs trembling as she tried
to keep them in a position where her feet didn't pull on the nail.
"Let me untie her!" implored Marcia. Her liquid brown eyes made me feel
weak. I savored the quivering of her full lips, the tear tracks on her white
cheeks. Her dress was gathered in above the hips, carefully designed to show
off her slim waist. I imagined her naked, down on her hands and knees, with me
behind her holding her firmly by her thick black hair...
I offered her the hammer and nail.
"Just hammer in one nail," I told her. "Otherwise you'll have to hope for the
mercy of your own folk."
She looked at her mother, at her brother who was staring at his other sister, and
then at the grinning crowd. She tried to pull her arm out of Oppius's grip.
"Let us go, please!"
"Yes, she is innocent," added her mother. "There is no reason for you to punish
her. Do the decent thing and let her go."
Willowfall twisted her head and pulled on the ropes, trying to see what was
going on. Her brother Julius stepped forward, Titus at his side ready to restrain
him if necessary.
"Julius, why aren't they untying me?" asked Willowfall, still unable to imagine
any other reason why she might have been lowered to the ground.
I offered Julius the hammer and a nail. He stretched out his hand and took them.
"Julius..." gasped Marcia and her mother, in unison.
Julius stepped in to Willowfall's field of view.
"Julius?" cried Willowfall. She looked around at Titus and me. The truth dawned
on her. "No," she whispered.
Julius knelt by Willowfall's left hand. Titus squatted next to him and pulled
the coils of rope apart, exposing the soft white skin of Willowfall's wrist.
He pointed and pressed his finger against the special place where the nail would slip
between the bones. Julius placed the point of the nail on that spot.
"Julius!" cried Marcia and Domitia, in disbelief.
"No!" screamed Willowfall, "No no please no..."
The angle of the nail looked a bit off, but the bones would channel it,
at some cost to Willowfall's nerves.
Showing surprising vigor for a sedentary aristrocrat, Julius brought the hammer
down. It hit the nailhead with a firm "thunk", driving it down a good two inches.
Willowfall's scream was so loud that we had to cover our ears. Her body arched in
spasm, jerking her feet against the nail that pinned them to the stipes.
Julius jumped up, ran away a few steps, and threw up behind a small bush. Titus held
Willowfall's hand in place so the nail only bobbed around a little. It hadn't yet
seated itself in the wood. The crowd burst in to coarse laughter.
Willowfall's screams slowly subsided to sobbing yelps. Marcia and Domitia clung
together, their bodies shaking with grief and fear. Silvanus led Julius back to
the naked body of his sister, her stomach rising and falling rapidly.
"All the way in!" came voices from the crowd.
Silvanus gave Julius the hammer again.
I wondered if Julius had ever ordered any of his slaves crucified.
"Julius," whimpered Willowfall.
Julius, his mouth in a thin line, hammered the nail as if he were repairing
a loose floorboard. Willowfall shrieked and jerked helplessly. After five or
six blows, just an inch of nail stuck out from her wrist. Blood was oozing out
around the puncture wound. Julius let the hammer fall to his side. He gazed
at his sister's twitching body. He reached out and let his hand cover her
breast. The crowd fell silent. Slowly, he squeezed Willowfall's breast,
rolling her nipple between his fingers. Willowfall didn't seem to notice, she
was panting and moaning, looking in disbelief at the nail sticking out of her
wrist.
Julius stood up. Suddenly he was the one in command. Titus gave him another
nail, then knelt to separate the ropes that held Willowfall's right
wrist. Julius placed the nail on the right spot. Willowfall didn't realize
what was happening until the hammer started landing again. With five fluent
blows, Julius fixed Willowfall's right wrist to the wood of the patibulum. On
the first one she screamed and struggled, to no avail. He reached out and felt
the protruding nailhead, and checked that it was immovably firm. Everyone
watched to see what he would do to her next.
Julius swung his knee over Willowfall and knelt astride her heaving stomach.
She was gasping and crying, trying to pull her hands off the nails and
suffering spasms of pain each time she did so. Julius lent over her distorted
face, and brushed the sweat-stuck hair aside. He started to kiss her, working
his way from her forehead, down her nose to her twitching lips, then down her
neck and chest to her breasts. He kissed each nipple, then alternated between
kissing and sucking them. Willowfall trembled and gasped like a transported
lover. Julius continued. His hand stroked the inside of her thighs, then his
fingers slid up to her crotch and worked there in a slow insistent
rhythm. Willowfall strained and sighed, turning her head from side to side.
Was she responding to his touch, or fascinated by the reality of the short
shanks of bloody iron that now sprouted from her agonized hands?
Julius lifted his red-lined tunic and brought forth his member. It was erect. Its
thickness was normal, but it was impressively long, and already glistened with
oozings of pre-cum. He grasped Willowfall's slender hips, and pulled her down
the cross towards him. Her arms straightened as Titus untied the ropes that were
no longer needed to hold them. Julius pulled her down again, and Willowfall screamed as
her hands tugged on the cruel nails. Because her feet were fixed in place,
pulling her down caused her legs to bend and her thighs to open.
Julius slid his dick in to the triangle of shadow below her pubic area.
Julius's hips began to move. Willowfall cried out and her struggles became
more urgent. She looked down and saw Julius on top of her, several inches of his
white dick visibly starting to slide in to her womanhood. She struggled, and
then screeched at the resultant pain in her hands and feet. Julius began the
slow in-and-out motion that could only have one ending. Willowfall emitted
inarticulate cries; she might have been begging him to stop, or asking us to
end her suffering, no one could tell. Julius took her breasts in his hands
and leaned his weight on them. He was now fucking her. None of us could
believe what we were seeing. Julius's eyes locked on his stepsister's
pain-wracked face. But it would have taken very little imagination to see hers
as the face of an ecstatic lover. Whatever his thoughts, Julius was soon
moving as uncontrollably as Willowfall. Glistening inches of his dick flashed
in and out of view as he pounded her tortured body. As we watched in
breathless fascination, he came to his climax, looking every bit the
passionate lover, his face buried in her breasts, his hands cupping
her buttocks. It took a while for his fucking to slow down and stop.
Unable to restrain myself, I pulled Marcia towards me. I ripped the delicate
dress from her body and flung it aside. As Oppius and Titus took hold of
Willowfall's patibulum, I turned Marcia around, letting her naked bottom press
against my bulging tunic, and holding her breasts in my hands. They were soft
and heavy, and shook with her cries of dismay as the two grinning soldiers
slowly maneuvered her sister's patibulum, rotating it back up to the top of
her stipes. Willowfall hung from it at an awkward angle struggling and
screaming, blood dripping down her arm, until they lodged it in place on the
pegs at the top of the stipes. The tall fellow tied it back on again, and we
all admired the finally complete crucifixion of Willowfall.
Hangnail
Tribune
Willowfall Captured (13), by Hangnail
Without any kind of sedile, Willowfall experienced the full sensation of
hanging from nails. Her previous crucifixion felt like a blissful rest in
comparison. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. She reared up, then slid down,
tugging on her pinioned limbs like a trapped animal. Like most women on the
cross, she cried out desperate pleas, offering impossible favors to anyone who
would lift her off the spikes. At the same time, she pulled herself into
a series of contorted poses, desperately trying to ease her discomfort.
As Willowfall struggled in her new world of restraint and pain, my throbbing
dick worked its way between Marcia's milk-white buttocks. Dripping with
pre-cum, it lubricated the lips of her virgin pussy. She stood panting in
horror at her sister's antics and my slow invasion. My hands squeezed her
breasts in to whatever shape I desired, and my fingers guided the slick head of my
dick in to position.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar movement. Fannia, as
uncontrollable as her crucified enemy, had her hand up under her short dress,
exposing her plump white thighs, and was frigging herself. When her hand got
tired she took a rest and taunted Willowfall, which got her so excited she
started masturbating again. Others in the crowd, mostly men, soon felt free to
indulge themselves likewise. Julius, unable to enjoy himself again so quickly,
just stood staring at his writhing stepsister.
I pushed Marcia to the ground on her hands and knees. Her buttocks bobbed
invitingly. I tore off my tunic, and guided my rigid dick to her helplessly
lubricated pussy. The crowd cheered "Fuck her!". I pressed against Marcia,
feeling her soft butt cheeks warming my groin as my dick worked its way up
inside her.
"No, please!" she yelped, when I encountered the elastic barrier of her
virginity. My dick felt like a battle-hardened spear. I increased the
pressure, deliberately drawing out her deflowering as long as I could. The
tight little cherry tore open in tiny increments. Marcia's back heaved with her
cries. Livilla Domitia fought Silvanus's grip, screaming "No, no, my baby." The crowd
roared with giddy joy at the spectacle of their despised aristocrats being so
publically debased.
I felt the last rip of Marcia's cherry, and knew that her untouched depths
were open to me. I slid into the holy of holies as gently as I could. I felt a
strange rush of tenderness for the poor girl. Her lovely body had never
yet brought her the full pleasure of sexual coupling. But at these thoughts a
red-hot hardness filled my loins. I lost control, thrusted wildly, and erupted
into her with wave after wave of volcanic ecstasy. Her cries were drowned out
by the cheer of the crowd. Insane with lust to complete her degradation, my
dick stayed hard. I fucked Marcia with the firm sweet love of a lion holding
its shuddering prey by the throat, until a second explosion of pleasure
emptied my balls in to her pussy.
Silvanus gave Livilla over to some eager peasants and helped me aside, and I
stood in a daze as he took my place. He wrung squealing cries from Marcia by
fucking her with long slow strokes. I picked up my tunic and put it back on,
noticing with satisfaction that there were traces of Marcia's maiden blood at
the base of my dick. When Silvanus had completed his enjoyment it was Oppius's
turn. After using her freshly broached pussy to get himself fully hard, he
pressed his dripping cock against her asshole. "I do apologise, my lady!" he
said, and he gradually worked it open, until after five minutes he took her
asshole to its full depth. Marcia moaned with humiliation.
Marcia tried to keep her chest off the ground, but her arms were getting
tired of supporting her against Oppius's ass-expanding piston. Fannia came
over and kicked her left arm away and Marcia pitched forward, planting her
face in the dirt. Fannia put her foot on Marcia's neck, then slipped her foot
out of its sandal and ran her toes through Marcia's perfumed hair. Marcia
twisted her head to keep her mouth from being filled with earth as Oppius
reached a crescendo of ass-fucking. He bellowed as he spurted inside her, then
pulled out, leaving Marcia's dark orifice gaping open above her blood-streaked
pussy. Immdiately, Titus was behind her. He slapped her buttocks and she
squealed and her asshole began to close. He quickly inserted his dick and
fucked the hole then withdrew and made her gape again. People crowded around
behind to watch as Titus repeated his performance, slapping her harder each
time. She cried out with discomfort and humiliation and her butt cheeks were
soon bright red.
When Titus was done, another legionnaire whose name I didn't know came
forward and rode Marcia. Then it was the turn of the two sweaty and
earth-stained men who'd dug the hole for Willowfall's stipes. Lady Livilla
Domitia was outraged at seeing her daughter being made to submit to
them. Being raped by the hated Roman invaders was one thing, but seeing her
precious daughter violated by the commonest peasants of their own city was
more than she could bear. The two laborers managed to take Marcia's pussy and
ass simultaneously, jostling hip to hip as they filled both her sloppy
holes. Laughing with delight at their unexpected reward, they told Marcia that
her body would give them equal pleasure when they watched her dance on the
post they'd soon be setting up for her.
We held her down and invited people from the crowd to take Marcia however
they pleased. Some of the women laughingly pushed each other forward, but it
was the men who laid their crude hands on her. Soon there was so much semen
in her pussy that it overflowed in a pink stream down her thighs each time a
new dick pushed its way in. Her ass, however, sucked up every ejaculation
without giving back a drop. The crowd applauded every climax. Andronicus, the
skinny tramp with a cataract, got a roaring ovation when he came back for a
second ride, his dick just as stiff as it had been the first time. Marcia wept
impotently as each man enjoyed her. In the background, the two laborers were
already digging a deep hole for her stipes. Andronicus, always a helpful
fellow, brought them a short beam that would make a good patibulum.
Finally, Julius strode forward. Livilla Domitia was speechless as her own son
brought forth his fully recovered member, and proceeded to sodomize his
younger sister as uninhibitedly as he had fucked his older stepsister. It took
him longer to come this time, but the crowd was with him every step of the
way, clapping in unison in time with his thrusts. He wrapped her thick black
hair around his hands and pulled back on it in order to take her ass as deeply
as her could, forcing her to arch her back erotically and display her face to
the sky. I realized that her mouth had remained charmingly unsullied through
the whole ravishment.
By this time, more and more curious onlookers were wandering over to us from
the road, attracted by the noise and commotion. However, I only allowed those
who had been present since the raising of Willowfall's cross to take Marcia.
When the last of them had ridden her, Oppius and Titus dragged her over to
the patibulum and tied her wrists to it.
Livilla broke free of the men holding her, and rushed to Marcia's side. She
held her youngest daughter, who lay on her back with arms outstretched, her
naked white body shiny with perspiration and smears of fluid. Some of the most
depraved in the crowd shouted things like "Sit on her face, mom!". Livilla Domitia
whispered comforting words in Marcia's ear, but could not bring herself to
look either at Julius, who was walking back to their sedan chair with Fannia
scampering along at his side, nor at Willowfall, who was dancing vigorously on
her cross. Willowfall's full consciousness of her agony was clear. She cried
out to her mother, but Livilla could not bring herself to look at her bloody
struggling daughter.
Silvanus had picked out a stipes for Marcia, and told a couple of the
onlookers to bring it over to the freshly-dug pit. He showed them how to hold
it upright while the laborers shoveled earth back in to the hole, stamping it
down regularly to form a firm base. The crowd, especially the new arrivals,
stirred with excitement as I walked over to Marcia. I still had the nails that
Silvanus had given me, and on the way I picked up the hammer that Julius had
used on Willowfall. Livilla saw me coming. She stood up and tried to push me
away from her helpless daughter. Marcia lay there pulling on her bound wrists
and writhing her lovely legs. Silvanus gestured to the two peasants who had
restrained Livilla Domitia when Willowfall was being attached to her patibulum. They
grabbed her again and pulled her back. By now she had lost much of her dignitas and
tried to fight with them, but they were used to dealing with farm animals;
in a few seconds they had Lady Livilla Domitia on her knees. Roughly grabbing her
elaborately styled hair, they forced her to watch what I did to her daughter.
Marcia Domitia looked up at me as I came towards her. Oppius tied her feet
together leaving a good length of rope free, while Titus sat on her knees.
She struggled and twisted on the grass, her breasts bouncing from side to side.
"Please, no! Sir, not the cross! Not with nails, please!"
I love the way that girls beg when you crucify them. Men just get angry and defiant.
Her pleas grew desperate as I knelt by her right arm, lashed firmly to the
short patibulum.
"My maidenhood is already yours, take pity on me! Have pity, I implore you, sir!"
She actually talked this way! She must have studied Tragedies with a Greek
tutor. Now it was time to complete the lesson. I felt as one of the high
priests of old Babylon or Mycenae, about to sacrifice a princess to the Gods
after having offered up her virginity. I drank in every curve of her
body. There is no act of sex or violence that can equal the utter domination
of crucifixion. Her voice rose in a babble of pleading. I held the nail
steady, ignoring the wriggling of her fingers against the coils of rope. I
stole a quick glance at her face. Her eyes were huge. They offered me her
soul. I took it. I brought the hammer down with all my strength.
Marcia's spasm bounced Titus up in the air. He held on and kept her bound legs
from flailing too violently. The nail had slipped between the bones and was
solidly in the wood. I smiled. The clang and the scream, there was nothing
like it in the world. I waited until her howl ended in a choking gasp, and
as she filled her lungs again I brought the hammer down a second time. Her
face was unforgettable. I slammed the hammer down repeatedly, until there was
only an inch of clear shaft between her bloody wrist and the nailhead. Then I
knelt by her side, drinking in her gasping submission. When she was merely sobbing
I stepped over her vulnerable breasts and touched the second nail to her other wrist.
I wished I could do this a dozen times. The second was just as good as the first.
Livilla Domitia was also screaming and rending her clothes with
despair. Silvanus, who in spite of his battered appearance was probably about
the same age as her, decided to help. He tore her fine garments with ease, and
soon Livilla was completely naked, kneeling between the two peasants who held
her by the arms and hair. Men in the crowd wolf-whistled mockingly. Silvanus
tested her breasts for firmness, and came up smiling. I could not look away
from Marcia for long, however. She flopped around on the turf, her bound legs
flexing and straightening. Titus undid the ropes around her wrists. Her hands
were only about four feet apart on the short patibulum. She was able to flex
her elbows and try to lift her hands off those immovable nails. Onlookers pushed
forward to see her. The clean-shaven man, helped by the laborers and a few
others, held them back. People filed past, enjoying the spectacle of the young
patrician weeping and writhing on the ground, her hands fixed in place.
I could have enjoyed Marcia's tears and struggles for hours, but it was time
for her final humiliation. The two diggers dragged the patibulum over to the
stipes, and raised it to waist level. Marcia was forced to sit with her back
to the cross, her bloody hands raised as if she were surrendering. The two
coarse men lifted the patibulum, got under it, and pushed it up to the top of
the stipes. Marcia's wrists took her full weight, and blood began to dribble
down her almost-vertical forearms. Her feet, bound at the ankles, banged
against the stipes. She pleaded and screamed for something to stand on. The
crowd yelled back at her.
Titus stood behind the stipes, restraining her feet against the stipes by
pulling on the lengths of rope that dangled from the bonds that held her
ankles together. Now that she could not kick out, I knelt in front of her. She
looked down. She was above me and yet utterly in my power. I smiled and
waited. She struggled like a mermaid hanging from a whipping frame. She cried
out to her mother, who was also weeping and struggling helplessly in the firm
grip of the rough-handed peasants. With her feet giving her no support as they
slipped against the wood, Marcia wriggled more vigorously and the nails worked
at the edges of her wrist wounds. The rivulets of blood reached her armpits,
and tracked down her heaving ribs. One made its way down her breast and
dripped off the nipple, landing on her thigh. Her screams grew desperate.
I showed her the two remaining nails. She understood and yelped "No!", but
could not stop herself from adding useless pleas to be released and let down.
She looked across at her naked sister Willowfall who was also screaming, but
was able to transfer her weight from hands to feet and move her body
around. I am not sure whether Marcia realized that, lacking a sloping
footrest like the one on which Willowfall's feet were nailed, her own foot
nails would be far more painful to bear down on.
"Tie my feet on, please!" she moaned, fruitlessly bending her knees and trying
to plant her feet on the stipes and push downwards. Of course they just slipped
down the rough wood, leaving her dangling from nailed wrists.
"Nails or Nothing!" I told her.
She shook her head, and the struggling and crying continued for a delicious
interval. The crowd loved the sight of the young princess (or so they viewed
her) waging a hopeless battle against the Roman cross. She and Willowfall
exchanged screams, joining their mother in a family chorus of dismay.
Then Marcia addressed her sister directly.
"Ulia!" she cried.
At that moment Willowfall had just managed to stand up on her footrest. Her
wrists were relieved of the strain of carrying her full weight, and the
footrest took part of her weight. The rest of it bore down on the big nail
through her feet, but still these were the least-agonizing moments of her
cycle of contortions. She heard, and looked over at her sister. Their faces
were already so tear-stained and contorted that it was impossible to tell
whether the sight of each other's stretched-out bodies gave them any extra
distress.
"Ulia! Help me!" cried Marcia.
Willowfall shook her head. She knew that the agony never stopped.
"The nails hurt so!" wept Marcia.
Willowfall looked at me. "Please, tie her feet for her," she said, her
voice shaky and hoarse.
"Nails or Nothing!" I repeated.
"You bastard," gasped Willowfall. Her thighs were quivering. Her feet flexed
on the big nail, her legs losing their will to hold her up at such terrible
cost.
"Does it help?" asked Marcia. "You are using it, does it help?"
It is often said that the crucified cannot lie. Willowfall did not want to
be a participant in the torture of her sister, but the pain that racked her
whole body stripped her soul as naked as her body.
"Aye!" she choked, as her thighs gave way and she slid down her stipes, her
knees bending out in front of her, until her arms were extended in that
terrible flat V-shape that she would be stuck in for longer and longer
in the coming hours.
I stood up and stretched my legs which were stiff from kneeling. Then I
turned and started away from Marcia's cross.
"Please!" she called out to me.
I turned back to her. She also stretched her legs, in a fruitless
effort to reach the ground with her toes. Her breasts bulged over
her hollowed-out stomach.
"Fix my feet, please sir," she whimpered.
"Say 'Please nail my feet for me'", I commanded.
She ground her teeth and tried again to reach the ground. Her lovely toes
swung inches above the dark earth. More blood dripped from her nipples. She
bowed her head.
"Please nail my feet, sir," she moaned.
"Louder, so everyone knows I am only doing what you ask."
"Please nail my feet, sir!" she cried, and started to weep.
Without any kind of sedile, Willowfall experienced the full sensation of
hanging from nails. Her previous crucifixion felt like a blissful rest in
comparison. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. She reared up, then slid down,
tugging on her pinioned limbs like a trapped animal. Like most women on the
cross, she cried out desperate pleas, offering impossible favors to anyone who
would lift her off the spikes. At the same time, she pulled herself into
a series of contorted poses, desperately trying to ease her discomfort.
As Willowfall struggled in her new world of restraint and pain, my throbbing
dick worked its way between Marcia's milk-white buttocks. Dripping with
pre-cum, it lubricated the lips of her virgin pussy. She stood panting in
horror at her sister's antics and my slow invasion. My hands squeezed her
breasts in to whatever shape I desired, and my fingers guided the slick head of my
dick in to position.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar movement. Fannia, as
uncontrollable as her crucified enemy, had her hand up under her short dress,
exposing her plump white thighs, and was frigging herself. When her hand got
tired she took a rest and taunted Willowfall, which got her so excited she
started masturbating again. Others in the crowd, mostly men, soon felt free to
indulge themselves likewise. Julius, unable to enjoy himself again so quickly,
just stood staring at his writhing stepsister.
I pushed Marcia to the ground on her hands and knees. Her buttocks bobbed
invitingly. I tore off my tunic, and guided my rigid dick to her helplessly
lubricated pussy. The crowd cheered "Fuck her!". I pressed against Marcia,
feeling her soft butt cheeks warming my groin as my dick worked its way up
inside her.
"No, please!" she yelped, when I encountered the elastic barrier of her
virginity. My dick felt like a battle-hardened spear. I increased the
pressure, deliberately drawing out her deflowering as long as I could. The
tight little cherry tore open in tiny increments. Marcia's back heaved with her
cries. Livilla Domitia fought Silvanus's grip, screaming "No, no, my baby." The crowd
roared with giddy joy at the spectacle of their despised aristocrats being so
publically debased.
I felt the last rip of Marcia's cherry, and knew that her untouched depths
were open to me. I slid into the holy of holies as gently as I could. I felt a
strange rush of tenderness for the poor girl. Her lovely body had never
yet brought her the full pleasure of sexual coupling. But at these thoughts a
red-hot hardness filled my loins. I lost control, thrusted wildly, and erupted
into her with wave after wave of volcanic ecstasy. Her cries were drowned out
by the cheer of the crowd. Insane with lust to complete her degradation, my
dick stayed hard. I fucked Marcia with the firm sweet love of a lion holding
its shuddering prey by the throat, until a second explosion of pleasure
emptied my balls in to her pussy.
Silvanus gave Livilla over to some eager peasants and helped me aside, and I
stood in a daze as he took my place. He wrung squealing cries from Marcia by
fucking her with long slow strokes. I picked up my tunic and put it back on,
noticing with satisfaction that there were traces of Marcia's maiden blood at
the base of my dick. When Silvanus had completed his enjoyment it was Oppius's
turn. After using her freshly broached pussy to get himself fully hard, he
pressed his dripping cock against her asshole. "I do apologise, my lady!" he
said, and he gradually worked it open, until after five minutes he took her
asshole to its full depth. Marcia moaned with humiliation.
Marcia tried to keep her chest off the ground, but her arms were getting
tired of supporting her against Oppius's ass-expanding piston. Fannia came
over and kicked her left arm away and Marcia pitched forward, planting her
face in the dirt. Fannia put her foot on Marcia's neck, then slipped her foot
out of its sandal and ran her toes through Marcia's perfumed hair. Marcia
twisted her head to keep her mouth from being filled with earth as Oppius
reached a crescendo of ass-fucking. He bellowed as he spurted inside her, then
pulled out, leaving Marcia's dark orifice gaping open above her blood-streaked
pussy. Immdiately, Titus was behind her. He slapped her buttocks and she
squealed and her asshole began to close. He quickly inserted his dick and
fucked the hole then withdrew and made her gape again. People crowded around
behind to watch as Titus repeated his performance, slapping her harder each
time. She cried out with discomfort and humiliation and her butt cheeks were
soon bright red.
When Titus was done, another legionnaire whose name I didn't know came
forward and rode Marcia. Then it was the turn of the two sweaty and
earth-stained men who'd dug the hole for Willowfall's stipes. Lady Livilla
Domitia was outraged at seeing her daughter being made to submit to
them. Being raped by the hated Roman invaders was one thing, but seeing her
precious daughter violated by the commonest peasants of their own city was
more than she could bear. The two laborers managed to take Marcia's pussy and
ass simultaneously, jostling hip to hip as they filled both her sloppy
holes. Laughing with delight at their unexpected reward, they told Marcia that
her body would give them equal pleasure when they watched her dance on the
post they'd soon be setting up for her.
We held her down and invited people from the crowd to take Marcia however
they pleased. Some of the women laughingly pushed each other forward, but it
was the men who laid their crude hands on her. Soon there was so much semen
in her pussy that it overflowed in a pink stream down her thighs each time a
new dick pushed its way in. Her ass, however, sucked up every ejaculation
without giving back a drop. The crowd applauded every climax. Andronicus, the
skinny tramp with a cataract, got a roaring ovation when he came back for a
second ride, his dick just as stiff as it had been the first time. Marcia wept
impotently as each man enjoyed her. In the background, the two laborers were
already digging a deep hole for her stipes. Andronicus, always a helpful
fellow, brought them a short beam that would make a good patibulum.
Finally, Julius strode forward. Livilla Domitia was speechless as her own son
brought forth his fully recovered member, and proceeded to sodomize his
younger sister as uninhibitedly as he had fucked his older stepsister. It took
him longer to come this time, but the crowd was with him every step of the
way, clapping in unison in time with his thrusts. He wrapped her thick black
hair around his hands and pulled back on it in order to take her ass as deeply
as her could, forcing her to arch her back erotically and display her face to
the sky. I realized that her mouth had remained charmingly unsullied through
the whole ravishment.
By this time, more and more curious onlookers were wandering over to us from
the road, attracted by the noise and commotion. However, I only allowed those
who had been present since the raising of Willowfall's cross to take Marcia.
When the last of them had ridden her, Oppius and Titus dragged her over to
the patibulum and tied her wrists to it.
Livilla broke free of the men holding her, and rushed to Marcia's side. She
held her youngest daughter, who lay on her back with arms outstretched, her
naked white body shiny with perspiration and smears of fluid. Some of the most
depraved in the crowd shouted things like "Sit on her face, mom!". Livilla Domitia
whispered comforting words in Marcia's ear, but could not bring herself to
look either at Julius, who was walking back to their sedan chair with Fannia
scampering along at his side, nor at Willowfall, who was dancing vigorously on
her cross. Willowfall's full consciousness of her agony was clear. She cried
out to her mother, but Livilla could not bring herself to look at her bloody
struggling daughter.
Silvanus had picked out a stipes for Marcia, and told a couple of the
onlookers to bring it over to the freshly-dug pit. He showed them how to hold
it upright while the laborers shoveled earth back in to the hole, stamping it
down regularly to form a firm base. The crowd, especially the new arrivals,
stirred with excitement as I walked over to Marcia. I still had the nails that
Silvanus had given me, and on the way I picked up the hammer that Julius had
used on Willowfall. Livilla saw me coming. She stood up and tried to push me
away from her helpless daughter. Marcia lay there pulling on her bound wrists
and writhing her lovely legs. Silvanus gestured to the two peasants who had
restrained Livilla Domitia when Willowfall was being attached to her patibulum. They
grabbed her again and pulled her back. By now she had lost much of her dignitas and
tried to fight with them, but they were used to dealing with farm animals;
in a few seconds they had Lady Livilla Domitia on her knees. Roughly grabbing her
elaborately styled hair, they forced her to watch what I did to her daughter.
Marcia Domitia looked up at me as I came towards her. Oppius tied her feet
together leaving a good length of rope free, while Titus sat on her knees.
She struggled and twisted on the grass, her breasts bouncing from side to side.
"Please, no! Sir, not the cross! Not with nails, please!"
I love the way that girls beg when you crucify them. Men just get angry and defiant.
Her pleas grew desperate as I knelt by her right arm, lashed firmly to the
short patibulum.
"My maidenhood is already yours, take pity on me! Have pity, I implore you, sir!"
She actually talked this way! She must have studied Tragedies with a Greek
tutor. Now it was time to complete the lesson. I felt as one of the high
priests of old Babylon or Mycenae, about to sacrifice a princess to the Gods
after having offered up her virginity. I drank in every curve of her
body. There is no act of sex or violence that can equal the utter domination
of crucifixion. Her voice rose in a babble of pleading. I held the nail
steady, ignoring the wriggling of her fingers against the coils of rope. I
stole a quick glance at her face. Her eyes were huge. They offered me her
soul. I took it. I brought the hammer down with all my strength.
Marcia's spasm bounced Titus up in the air. He held on and kept her bound legs
from flailing too violently. The nail had slipped between the bones and was
solidly in the wood. I smiled. The clang and the scream, there was nothing
like it in the world. I waited until her howl ended in a choking gasp, and
as she filled her lungs again I brought the hammer down a second time. Her
face was unforgettable. I slammed the hammer down repeatedly, until there was
only an inch of clear shaft between her bloody wrist and the nailhead. Then I
knelt by her side, drinking in her gasping submission. When she was merely sobbing
I stepped over her vulnerable breasts and touched the second nail to her other wrist.
I wished I could do this a dozen times. The second was just as good as the first.
Livilla Domitia was also screaming and rending her clothes with
despair. Silvanus, who in spite of his battered appearance was probably about
the same age as her, decided to help. He tore her fine garments with ease, and
soon Livilla was completely naked, kneeling between the two peasants who held
her by the arms and hair. Men in the crowd wolf-whistled mockingly. Silvanus
tested her breasts for firmness, and came up smiling. I could not look away
from Marcia for long, however. She flopped around on the turf, her bound legs
flexing and straightening. Titus undid the ropes around her wrists. Her hands
were only about four feet apart on the short patibulum. She was able to flex
her elbows and try to lift her hands off those immovable nails. Onlookers pushed
forward to see her. The clean-shaven man, helped by the laborers and a few
others, held them back. People filed past, enjoying the spectacle of the young
patrician weeping and writhing on the ground, her hands fixed in place.
I could have enjoyed Marcia's tears and struggles for hours, but it was time
for her final humiliation. The two diggers dragged the patibulum over to the
stipes, and raised it to waist level. Marcia was forced to sit with her back
to the cross, her bloody hands raised as if she were surrendering. The two
coarse men lifted the patibulum, got under it, and pushed it up to the top of
the stipes. Marcia's wrists took her full weight, and blood began to dribble
down her almost-vertical forearms. Her feet, bound at the ankles, banged
against the stipes. She pleaded and screamed for something to stand on. The
crowd yelled back at her.
Titus stood behind the stipes, restraining her feet against the stipes by
pulling on the lengths of rope that dangled from the bonds that held her
ankles together. Now that she could not kick out, I knelt in front of her. She
looked down. She was above me and yet utterly in my power. I smiled and
waited. She struggled like a mermaid hanging from a whipping frame. She cried
out to her mother, who was also weeping and struggling helplessly in the firm
grip of the rough-handed peasants. With her feet giving her no support as they
slipped against the wood, Marcia wriggled more vigorously and the nails worked
at the edges of her wrist wounds. The rivulets of blood reached her armpits,
and tracked down her heaving ribs. One made its way down her breast and
dripped off the nipple, landing on her thigh. Her screams grew desperate.
I showed her the two remaining nails. She understood and yelped "No!", but
could not stop herself from adding useless pleas to be released and let down.
She looked across at her naked sister Willowfall who was also screaming, but
was able to transfer her weight from hands to feet and move her body
around. I am not sure whether Marcia realized that, lacking a sloping
footrest like the one on which Willowfall's feet were nailed, her own foot
nails would be far more painful to bear down on.
"Tie my feet on, please!" she moaned, fruitlessly bending her knees and trying
to plant her feet on the stipes and push downwards. Of course they just slipped
down the rough wood, leaving her dangling from nailed wrists.
"Nails or Nothing!" I told her.
She shook her head, and the struggling and crying continued for a delicious
interval. The crowd loved the sight of the young princess (or so they viewed
her) waging a hopeless battle against the Roman cross. She and Willowfall
exchanged screams, joining their mother in a family chorus of dismay.
Then Marcia addressed her sister directly.
"Ulia!" she cried.
At that moment Willowfall had just managed to stand up on her footrest. Her
wrists were relieved of the strain of carrying her full weight, and the
footrest took part of her weight. The rest of it bore down on the big nail
through her feet, but still these were the least-agonizing moments of her
cycle of contortions. She heard, and looked over at her sister. Their faces
were already so tear-stained and contorted that it was impossible to tell
whether the sight of each other's stretched-out bodies gave them any extra
distress.
"Ulia! Help me!" cried Marcia.
Willowfall shook her head. She knew that the agony never stopped.
"The nails hurt so!" wept Marcia.
Willowfall looked at me. "Please, tie her feet for her," she said, her
voice shaky and hoarse.
"Nails or Nothing!" I repeated.
"You bastard," gasped Willowfall. Her thighs were quivering. Her feet flexed
on the big nail, her legs losing their will to hold her up at such terrible
cost.
"Does it help?" asked Marcia. "You are using it, does it help?"
It is often said that the crucified cannot lie. Willowfall did not want to
be a participant in the torture of her sister, but the pain that racked her
whole body stripped her soul as naked as her body.
"Aye!" she choked, as her thighs gave way and she slid down her stipes, her
knees bending out in front of her, until her arms were extended in that
terrible flat V-shape that she would be stuck in for longer and longer
in the coming hours.
I stood up and stretched my legs which were stiff from kneeling. Then I
turned and started away from Marcia's cross.
"Please!" she called out to me.
I turned back to her. She also stretched her legs, in a fruitless
effort to reach the ground with her toes. Her breasts bulged over
her hollowed-out stomach.
"Fix my feet, please sir," she whimpered.
"Say 'Please nail my feet for me'", I commanded.
She ground her teeth and tried again to reach the ground. Her lovely toes
swung inches above the dark earth. More blood dripped from her nipples. She
bowed her head.
"Please nail my feet, sir," she moaned.
"Louder, so everyone knows I am only doing what you ask."
"Please nail my feet, sir!" she cried, and started to weep.
Kodos the Executioner
Governor
Very enjoyable to read!
sambaman
Executioner
any
thing but raping you for three days before an agonizing death on the cross might be a waste of human resources
.
thing but raping you for three days before an agonizing death on the cross might be a waste of human resources
.
Hangnail
Tribune
Willowfall Captured (14), by Hangnail
I knelt again before Marcia. I lifted and held her ankles, pressing her feet
flat on the stipes as low as possible while Titus and Oppius passed the
loose ends of the rope around her feet and the stipes five or six times.
They pulled it tight. There was a gentle bend to her knees. She immediately
used her legs to raise herself just enough to take the strain off her
arms. I worked a nail between the coils of rope and pressed against the soft
center of her foot. She cried out and her whole body shook. A drop of blood
fell from her nipple and landed on my forearm.
"No, no!" she cried.
I hit the nail as hard as I could. She screamed and collapsed to hang again
by the arms. I hammered it all the way in.
To a chorus of girl-screaming, I drove the final nail through her other foot.
Oppius unwound the ropes, and used his shortsword to cut them free of her ankles.
I stood back to take in the scene. I had punished many rebels and slaves but
never assembled a tableau like this. On the left, Sergius hung defeated on his cross,
occasionally gurgling an oath or two. On the right, Valeria slowly writhed on her
sedile, trying to suppress her moans while Blossom was distracted by the
raising of Marcia. In the middle hung the Domitia sisters, freshly crucified.
Willowfall's cross bounced and creaked as its occupant fought her fate. I
admired her hard musculature, stretched to its limits. She screamed in anger
when forced to rise. Her feet twisted on the big nail. Her firm little breasts
jiggled around on her heaving chest. She snarled at the cowardly crowd and
cursed their complicity with Rome.
Marcia wept. Her posture was more elongated than Willowfall's. Her wrists
were nailed high above her head on a short patibulum. She wriggled pitifully.
I had nailed her feet low enough that she could only raise herself a
forearm-length, and doing so forced her to arch her buttocks away from the
stipes, presenting the black triangle of her pubis to the crowd. She gasped
frantically in that pose, only lasting a few seconds until she was unable to
bear it any longer and had to relax her legs and hang again by the arms. True
to her upbringing, Marcia did not curse. She continually cried out, moaning
inarticulately or begging for relief from the unending pull of the nails
against her wounds.
I nodded to the men holding Lady Lucilla Domitia and they released her.
Forgetting she was naked, she ran to Marcia, then to Willowfall. Horrified by
the blood and the screaming she recoiled. She went back to Marcia whose cross
was low like Willowfall's, so that Lucilla's head was as the same level as her
daughter's. She tried to stroke her hair and give words of comfort, but Marcia
just begged to be un-nailed. Oppius sidled up to Willowfall and fondled her
hard little buttocks, shouting to Lucilla that this was the way to comfort a
girl suffering the Roman cross. Lucilla ran and beat him with her
fists. He cowered away in mock fear. Meanwhile Titus crept up to Marcia and
started to slap her heavy breasts around. Soon they had poor Lucilla running
naked back and forth between the two crosses, and the crowd was howling with
laughter.
We enjoyed the living death of these four unfortunates for the rest of the
morning. While the crowd was taunting Marcia and Willowfall I went over to see
Valeria. She was the plumpest and oldest and yet I could not resist the urge
to caress her big pale breasts and run my hands over her well-padded belly and
thighs. Her body tensed continually with the effort of keeping her ample
bottom from slipping off the sedile that Silvanus had propped her up on. With
that support she could talk more easily than Willowfall and Marcia. Over the
shrieking of the Domitia sisters I was able to have an oddly normal
conversation with her, making suggestive remarks about how satisfied her
customers must have been, and chatting about the trials of Roman army
life. Whenever she returned to begging for respite from her present situation
I strung her along with vague promises, and a bit more fondling. Eventually
she became angry and I told her I'd be back later.
Willowfall and Marcia had been though many different phases in their
unending effort to mitigate the tearing of the nails in their limbs. By midday
the constant screaming had subsided, and they were lolling around with much
panting and gasping, their bodies wet with perspiration. I was delighted that
they were still fully conscious and that they noticed me when I stood close by
them. Oppius had given them both water to drink, and I could smell their urine
mixed with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. Marcia begged me for mercy. I
drew close to her, ignoring Willowfall's competing cries. I whispered in her
ear, feeling her soft hair brushing my face as she bobbed up and down. I
stroked her nipples, and marveled at how her body could be almost perfectly
smooth and unmarked while it was undergoing ultimate torment. Her nipples were
so pink and perfect that I had to take them in my mouth. They were just like
those of any girl recently relieved of her virginity. I tried biting on them
and found that in spite of being suspended on nails, Marcia could easily be
induced to twist and cry out at a new source of pain.
I then gave Willowfall some attention. Lucilla had put on the tattered
remnants of her fine white robe and sat sobbing a few feet in front of
Willowfall's cross, no longer offering any resistance. Willowfall flopped
from side to side, too tired to raise herself up but unable to rest. Her head
sagged, and I lifted her chin with my hand. She swore weakly, then mumbled
something about ending her torture. I told her that we were all eager to see
which of the sisters would last the longest. With with a groan she jerked
herself up on quivering legs, blood oozing from the footrest, and expressed
her rage and contempt for Rome and for me. Then her legs failed and she sunk
back down again. The hard little muscles of her lovely archer's arms twitched
with cramps. I felt them bunching like little rodents under her brown
skin. Reluctant to part from such an exquisitely vanquished creature, I kissed
her salty forehead and slipped my fingers in to her pussy. She panted as I
took my final pleasure in her.
At noon I gave the order for the men under my command to fall in and form a
marching formation. I had Lady Lucilla brought along as my own personal captive of
war. We marched off along the path to our camp. I looked back and tried to fix
in my memory the image of the Domitia sisters hanging up before the walls of the
city. All the rest of that day I replayed in my mind the exquisite scene that
I had left behind. That night I enjoyed Lucilla Domitia's refined body in
my rough camp bed. She was weepy and lethargic, but I was uncontrollably
aroused by vivid thoughts of nails and sweat-dripping bodies, and I took
her several times.
The next morning I managed to get assigned some duties in the city, and
happily agreed to Lucilla's request to be brought along. But when we arrived
at the spot, all four of our victims hung dead, their bodies marked by
injuries from the weapons of some drunken band of legionnaires. To my
surprise, Blossom was still there among the small number of remaining
spectators. I left Lucilla kneeling in front of the bodies of her daughters,
and had a chat with Blossom. She was planning to start a new brothel, and I
sold Lady Lucilla Domitia to her for a few coins and the promise of open access
to Blossom's new enterprise.
For the second and final time I walked away from the Domitia girls, now
hanging cold and motionless on their crosses. There was a transcendent beauty
to their cross-wracked forms, suspended like sacrified angels between earth
and heaven. I felt a swell of pride at what I had accomplished. Surely some
day everyone would worship such images.
I knelt again before Marcia. I lifted and held her ankles, pressing her feet
flat on the stipes as low as possible while Titus and Oppius passed the
loose ends of the rope around her feet and the stipes five or six times.
They pulled it tight. There was a gentle bend to her knees. She immediately
used her legs to raise herself just enough to take the strain off her
arms. I worked a nail between the coils of rope and pressed against the soft
center of her foot. She cried out and her whole body shook. A drop of blood
fell from her nipple and landed on my forearm.
"No, no!" she cried.
I hit the nail as hard as I could. She screamed and collapsed to hang again
by the arms. I hammered it all the way in.
To a chorus of girl-screaming, I drove the final nail through her other foot.
Oppius unwound the ropes, and used his shortsword to cut them free of her ankles.
I stood back to take in the scene. I had punished many rebels and slaves but
never assembled a tableau like this. On the left, Sergius hung defeated on his cross,
occasionally gurgling an oath or two. On the right, Valeria slowly writhed on her
sedile, trying to suppress her moans while Blossom was distracted by the
raising of Marcia. In the middle hung the Domitia sisters, freshly crucified.
Willowfall's cross bounced and creaked as its occupant fought her fate. I
admired her hard musculature, stretched to its limits. She screamed in anger
when forced to rise. Her feet twisted on the big nail. Her firm little breasts
jiggled around on her heaving chest. She snarled at the cowardly crowd and
cursed their complicity with Rome.
Marcia wept. Her posture was more elongated than Willowfall's. Her wrists
were nailed high above her head on a short patibulum. She wriggled pitifully.
I had nailed her feet low enough that she could only raise herself a
forearm-length, and doing so forced her to arch her buttocks away from the
stipes, presenting the black triangle of her pubis to the crowd. She gasped
frantically in that pose, only lasting a few seconds until she was unable to
bear it any longer and had to relax her legs and hang again by the arms. True
to her upbringing, Marcia did not curse. She continually cried out, moaning
inarticulately or begging for relief from the unending pull of the nails
against her wounds.
I nodded to the men holding Lady Lucilla Domitia and they released her.
Forgetting she was naked, she ran to Marcia, then to Willowfall. Horrified by
the blood and the screaming she recoiled. She went back to Marcia whose cross
was low like Willowfall's, so that Lucilla's head was as the same level as her
daughter's. She tried to stroke her hair and give words of comfort, but Marcia
just begged to be un-nailed. Oppius sidled up to Willowfall and fondled her
hard little buttocks, shouting to Lucilla that this was the way to comfort a
girl suffering the Roman cross. Lucilla ran and beat him with her
fists. He cowered away in mock fear. Meanwhile Titus crept up to Marcia and
started to slap her heavy breasts around. Soon they had poor Lucilla running
naked back and forth between the two crosses, and the crowd was howling with
laughter.
We enjoyed the living death of these four unfortunates for the rest of the
morning. While the crowd was taunting Marcia and Willowfall I went over to see
Valeria. She was the plumpest and oldest and yet I could not resist the urge
to caress her big pale breasts and run my hands over her well-padded belly and
thighs. Her body tensed continually with the effort of keeping her ample
bottom from slipping off the sedile that Silvanus had propped her up on. With
that support she could talk more easily than Willowfall and Marcia. Over the
shrieking of the Domitia sisters I was able to have an oddly normal
conversation with her, making suggestive remarks about how satisfied her
customers must have been, and chatting about the trials of Roman army
life. Whenever she returned to begging for respite from her present situation
I strung her along with vague promises, and a bit more fondling. Eventually
she became angry and I told her I'd be back later.
Willowfall and Marcia had been though many different phases in their
unending effort to mitigate the tearing of the nails in their limbs. By midday
the constant screaming had subsided, and they were lolling around with much
panting and gasping, their bodies wet with perspiration. I was delighted that
they were still fully conscious and that they noticed me when I stood close by
them. Oppius had given them both water to drink, and I could smell their urine
mixed with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. Marcia begged me for mercy. I
drew close to her, ignoring Willowfall's competing cries. I whispered in her
ear, feeling her soft hair brushing my face as she bobbed up and down. I
stroked her nipples, and marveled at how her body could be almost perfectly
smooth and unmarked while it was undergoing ultimate torment. Her nipples were
so pink and perfect that I had to take them in my mouth. They were just like
those of any girl recently relieved of her virginity. I tried biting on them
and found that in spite of being suspended on nails, Marcia could easily be
induced to twist and cry out at a new source of pain.
I then gave Willowfall some attention. Lucilla had put on the tattered
remnants of her fine white robe and sat sobbing a few feet in front of
Willowfall's cross, no longer offering any resistance. Willowfall flopped
from side to side, too tired to raise herself up but unable to rest. Her head
sagged, and I lifted her chin with my hand. She swore weakly, then mumbled
something about ending her torture. I told her that we were all eager to see
which of the sisters would last the longest. With with a groan she jerked
herself up on quivering legs, blood oozing from the footrest, and expressed
her rage and contempt for Rome and for me. Then her legs failed and she sunk
back down again. The hard little muscles of her lovely archer's arms twitched
with cramps. I felt them bunching like little rodents under her brown
skin. Reluctant to part from such an exquisitely vanquished creature, I kissed
her salty forehead and slipped my fingers in to her pussy. She panted as I
took my final pleasure in her.
At noon I gave the order for the men under my command to fall in and form a
marching formation. I had Lady Lucilla brought along as my own personal captive of
war. We marched off along the path to our camp. I looked back and tried to fix
in my memory the image of the Domitia sisters hanging up before the walls of the
city. All the rest of that day I replayed in my mind the exquisite scene that
I had left behind. That night I enjoyed Lucilla Domitia's refined body in
my rough camp bed. She was weepy and lethargic, but I was uncontrollably
aroused by vivid thoughts of nails and sweat-dripping bodies, and I took
her several times.
The next morning I managed to get assigned some duties in the city, and
happily agreed to Lucilla's request to be brought along. But when we arrived
at the spot, all four of our victims hung dead, their bodies marked by
injuries from the weapons of some drunken band of legionnaires. To my
surprise, Blossom was still there among the small number of remaining
spectators. I left Lucilla kneeling in front of the bodies of her daughters,
and had a chat with Blossom. She was planning to start a new brothel, and I
sold Lady Lucilla Domitia to her for a few coins and the promise of open access
to Blossom's new enterprise.
For the second and final time I walked away from the Domitia girls, now
hanging cold and motionless on their crosses. There was a transcendent beauty
to their cross-wracked forms, suspended like sacrified angels between earth
and heaven. I felt a swell of pride at what I had accomplished. Surely some
day everyone would worship such images.
Marcie4you
Banned
Is this YOUR art? I'm VERY impressed!
What talent!
What a read! I couldn't stop! Very Well written!
Marcie4you
Banned
Thanks, that makes sense, sorry.(On a side note: Please don't quote whole stories to reply in a one-liner, it makes things very bulky)
Indeed, nicelly written.
I did it again!!!!!! Whoops! (Blonde here)
(On a side note: Please don't quote whole stories to reply in a one-liner, it makes things very bulky
Indeed, nicelly written.
corrected by meThanks, that makes sense, sorry.
I did it again!!!!!! Whoops! (Blonde here)
Marcie4you
Banned
Kisses!
Anklebiter
Magistrate
My great Thanks! to Hangnail and Willowfall for providing these incredible stories! Very well-written, interesting, lots of details, characterizations. Loved every word!
Hangnail
Tribune
You can find this story in the archive
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/willowfall-captured-by-hangnail.467/
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/willowfall-captured-by-hangnail.467/
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